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Quote by Stewart Stafford

“In Old Savannah by Stewart Stafford Quaking earth unleashed, An immigrant stands proud in the mêlée, Takes up the standard of his adopted country, And joins the charge. Blind in the cannon smoke, Grapeshot ricochets past, Then the patriot holds his gut, And falls bleeding. His wife awakes, To see his apparition at the foot of their bed, Morose and fading fast, Tears hang like ever-present Spanish moss on live oak. The immigrant stands proudly once more, Motionless and eternal on the plinth, A child with his father at the base points up at him, With future glory in his eyes. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.”

Quote by Stewart Stafford

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Stewart Stafford

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“Here there was a cheerful boy At least he created tales and lived in joy. Nursery rhymes his grandmother told, Songs and tales emerged gladly in gold. Caring heart, affection spoke loud as brighter, He made the decision: he would be a writer! Rising laughters, crying tears, many feelings, Inserted everything and nothing was in vain. So he transformed the ugly into beautiful, Tales to amuse and make everyone sane, In there he went, without daydreams or zeal. As such it was born the icon of literature still. No one denied he was exceedingly bountiful. A ballerina loves the soldier in his world, Nothing gets involved in his fairy tales, Dancing from a poor weak boy to a king, Eccentric prince of charm in winged corners! Rare star of sweet tenderness, Sensible and masterful in tenderness, Emchanted kingdom of dreams and candor, Now a divine fire of a soul he shines. Havia um menino alegre porem so Ao menos criava contos e deles vivia Nas historias que contava sua avo, Seus contos surgiam pois ele os via. Carinho nao faltava em seu coracao ator, Havia tomado a decisao: seria escritor! Risos, lagrimas, sentimentos saos, Inseria tudo e nada era em vao. Transformava ate o feio em belo, Inadvertia e divertia com seu elo, Adiante ia, sem devaneios e zelo. Nascia assim o icone da literatura. A bailarina ama o soldado em seu mundo, Nada se interpunha em seus contos de fadas, De pobre menino fraco e cogitabundo, Era principe de encantos em cantos alados! Rara estrela de doce brandura, Sensata e magistral em ternura, Em seu reino de sonhos e candura, No fogo divino de sua alma fulgura.”

PoetryArtistTalentPoemTalesWriterHomageAcrosticRhymesHans Christian Andersen
Book:ACross Tic
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“Before my last breath is drawn and the curtain falls and the last flower falls on me I want to live to love to be In this grey world and time of catastrophe this hostile existence with people who need me and whom I nee I would learn to value to discover to be astonished I want to learn who I am who I can be who I would like to be so that the days don’t go unused the hours have goals and the minutes value Whenever I laugh or cry or am silent on my journey to you to myself to God where the ways are uneven and thorny and scarcely known to me I want to set out have already embarked and don’t want to turn back now without having seen the blooming of flowers or heard the rippling of waters having been amazed for life is beautiful Then Friend Death may come and I can say I have lived Translated by Katharine Fournier”

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Book:Pflücke den Tag.
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